


Dandelion and Burdock

by BugFuzz



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Domestic, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Torture, Jealousy, M/M, Murder, Nosy Characters, Romance, Secret Identity, Serial Killer Husbands, dark humour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BugFuzz/pseuds/BugFuzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Great minds do not think alike.<br/>This means that husbands of four years, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, each have their own secret solace when they are left alone.<br/>Neither finds fault in this. Well, that is, until these secrets begin to germinate over one another within their perfectly functional relationship.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <strong>"Look down on me, you will see a fool. Look up at me, you will see your Lord. Look straight at me, you will see yourself."</strong><br/><strong>Killer!Will & Killer!Hannibal</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. THE PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> Will is a dandelion and Hannibal is a Burdock flower. It is also my favourite drink and became the title because I am uncreative. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think or what you'd like to see in any upcoming chapters or if you even like this at all!  
> Thank you for reading.

THE PROLOGUE 

Hannibal Lecter was a man of innate self control. His great self control being the only reason he had not decided to inflict grievous bodily harm upon the second airport personnel who had come to the waiting lounge to inform him that he would not be allowed to board the aeroplane for at least another three hours, due to the pilot falling ill with food poisoning. It had been seven days since he had last been with his partner and no amount of six course meals or five star hotels could equal the comfort of being home.  
Rather than join the rising rally of fuming travelers who encompassed the help desks, Hannibal organised for his driver to hold his luggage while he went on an excursion to find the closest restaurant of taste. If he was to waste his time, he would do so with class.  
\------------  
Will Graham was no stranger to conflicted emotions. As he spoke to his husband on the phone, there was no doubt that he felt cold disappointment settle in him at the prospect of waiting another fifteen or so hours until he could have more than verbal contact. There was, also, no mistaking the warm joy that gently trickled around the edges of the disappointment. More time could be spent in indulgence if he was to be alone for longer.

“Is there no other pilot on call?”

“I am afraid not,” the 4,000 miles between the men did nothing to distort Hannibal Lecter’s crisp accent.

“Well, you’d think the small fortune you spend on tickets would be enough to have a Plan B in situations like this. Is it worth you catching the flight tonight?”

“One would think you would rather I stay in Berlin, Will.”

Briefly, Will considered if a light chuckle or fond sigh would be the best response. He decided on fondly exasperated sigh, “Of _course_ I would rather have you home, with me… in our bed, and not forgetting our kitchen, but I’d hate for you to exhaust yourself waiting for everything to sort itself out.”

“That is very sweet of you, my dear, but eight days absence from you may be the final push for me to have to diagnose myself. I shall let you get back to bed and I will message you when I board my flight. Goodnight, I love you.”

“I eagerly await your arrival, then. Love you, too.”  
\------------  
The Lecter-Graham household was nothing, if resourceful. The size of the house just bordered intimidating, even more so if you were new to it. There were four floors including the attic which left more than enough room for both men to have enough space for their separate work and pleasures. Every floor had been similarly designed, the more baroque themes insisted upon by Hannibal who argued there was no sense moving to an isolated house if they were going to bring the mass culture of the city with them. So, it had been decreed that Hannibal would have free reign over the main interior designing if Will was allowed to convert one of the smaller lounge rooms on the ground floor into a bedroom of sorts for his adopted furry Oliver Twists.

It was rare for Will to feel lonely in his home when Hannibal was gone, partly because Hannibal travelled on average every few months and partly because of his habit of housing homeless dogs. The habit had only escalated since his first dog, Winston, had been killed in the expansive woods an acre away from his back garden. At the current time, he had his miniature army of dogs milling around ( _“Any more dogs in this house and we may as well convert it into an orphanage.”_ His husband often complained) and some company in the form of Gideon Miller, strapped to a bench in the basement where Will had returned to after his phone call with Hannibal. Wearing an oversized jumpsuit, of a material that was only good for the most unscrupulous activities, (and would surely have Hannibal in tears) with his glasses, he succeeded in looking like a mechanic who couldn’t tell a car from a motorcycle.

“Mr. Miller. Please do wake up; I have good news to share with you. We won’t have any company for another fifteen hours, or in your case, I’d say five at most, you’re a state, really.”

An abnormal pattern of breaths was his only response.

“I didn’t leave your tongue in for it to lay prostrate in your mouth. If you won’t put it to use, I may as well add it to the rest of you,” Will spoke like he did to one of his dogs when it had caught some woodland creature or another and dragged it’s scarce remains into the house.

“Ah! You find use of it now. Would you rather the wire cutters or the knife?”

Both were held up just above the almost formless face of Gideon Miller, but all he could make out were three cloudy silhouettes from his distorted vision. The most prominent one being the owner of the firm, yet somehow unstable voice, who had asked for directions to the nearest veterinarian's surgery before slamming his head into the roof of his jeep. He had been confined here for two days now and even if he did survive the ongoing ordeal, there was no chance of him walking, or crawling for that matter, away from it.

Will, please, no more. I’m sorry! I didn’t know they were yours! I’m sorry! 

“Was that wire cutters? Excellent choice, if a little awkward but hey! Let’s get cracking. Say AHHHHHHHHHH!”

The truly terrifying feature of the house is that only one floor up, not even the dogs stir from the wails that make it no further than the basement’s bolted door.


	2. TARAXACUM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal returns home. 
> 
> Thank you to those who left comments and kudos and what have you. I hope you like this chapter.  
> As usual, please let me know what you think.

At 9:15 am on a Tuesday morning, the silence sprung from both respect and obligation found at nearly all crime scenes was torn apart by the muffled beep of an incoming phone call. Jack Crawford scans the room quickly, thinking it to be a piece of evidence that had been missed on the first sweep of the seventh floor apartment he had been in long enough to sketch the blueprints of its layout. He makes a step forward to where he thinks the sound may be originating from before Will scuttles out from under the bed saturated with blood, startling one of the newer forensic specialists into a yelp. 

“I have something for you, Jack, but I have to take this call quickly. It’s urgent.” 

“By all means, just don’t take too long. As cliché as it is, there are lives at stake.” 

Will forces his body up from its prone position on the tough carpeted floor, over the light blood spatters that are already part of the reconstruction in his mind. He leaves without an apology to the specialist who still hasn’t returned back to dusting the finger prints that have been left on the array of sex toys rolled about on the floor.  
Sometimes, Will thinks to himself that he could find something a little more stimulating than this, something more gruesome, more captivating than an angry husband walking in on his wife in the midst of rather adventurous intercourse with another woman and proceeding to, intentionally, kill the new woman and, accidently, his wife. So, as he answers his phone in the depressingly clean living area, (he has, over the past week, grown fond of living amongst blood) there is no desire to rush back into the main scene of the crime. Despite Crawford’s insistence, there are no lives at stake now. Quite sadly, Will laments.  
\----  
The first thing Hannibal does when he arrives at his house after a staying away is greet Will. If he is not home, he finds a certain joy in retreating to his bedroom, away from any influences of his and Will’s work, just solid wood, rumpled sleek fabrics and the lusty scent of his love. Most would argue that a scent cannot quell hunger but Hannibal would be inclined to disagree. Their senses are too dull and unrefined to experience what he does, sitting by the vacant fireplace with a glass of sweet wine, harvested in the Loire Valley, dining on the fresh smell that seemed to have bonded with the dry atmosphere of the room. The bed was the focal point of the kingdom that had been crafted in between the four sprawling walls of the largest room on the third floor, its elaborate oaken form, draped now in disheveled robes, stood monarch among the other furniture. At ease, Hannibal flickers through his memory palace, languidly stepping along the halls that, without his consent, are beginning to look more and more like home.

Feet stop moving when he reaches a room, untitled like the others but recognizable from its scent, even in his mind, he can explore his senses. The memories of he and Will span back nine years but are nowhere near to stroking the edges of the large capacity that has been reserved for them. Short scenes of their first meeting, the first time Will had allowed Hannibal to cook for him and then the first time that Hannibal had killed a man, with his potential partner still in his presence, sleeping not thirty meters away. 

_Oh,_ Hannibal recounts the clean thrust to the man’s, an overzealous patient, chest with his Sabatier knife of choice, one hand held so firmly over the victims mouth, his jaw was creaking from the pressure, _that had been beautiful._

Unlike most multiple murderers, he derived no pleasure in the replaying of his murders, but this particular incident was special. In the dining room of his old house, the open door led into the lengthy living room where Will, in the first stages of their relationship, had been relaxed on the sofa after a night of cultural and culinary debauchery. The kill was not impromptu; Hannibal had been waiting to rid himself of his intruding cumbersome patient with an ill taste for the flesh of little children, and at that very moment, with Will’s still face watching him, there appeared to be no better time. It had been easy enough, he went to the kitchen which was linked through the opposite side of the dining room, picked up a pair of wineglasses to placate the man into thinking they could converse despite the very clearly inopportune timing, and a knife. If anything, a few untactful lewd comments from his patient regarding the sleeping man in the room not so far away sped up the process. Everything after that related only to the thought of Will watching him hunt, seeing him kill the man with so little effort but so much skill.

This was where Hannibal derived his pleasure. In the imagined spray of blood falling across the slender cartilage of Will’s nose, the flash of teeth as his lip was bitten to control his delight. 

As quickly as the memory had been found, it was left behind for the present day. Considering the towels bundled carelessly on the floor and the pillows placed slapdash against the headboard, Hannibal knew that Will must have been called for work early this morning. Disdain for the incompetent law forces having to summon and use his husband when they saw fit began to rise in him but they were tamed from the knowledge of knowing if it became too much of a problem, he knew how to leave no traces behind.  
\------------  
“Morning, Will Graham speaking. Who is this?” 

“Oh come now, no need for professionalism,” Hannibal said with amusement at Will trying to be discreet at work. 

“Dr.Lecter, it is wonderful to hear from you so soon after your arrival. It has been an awful long time since we last saw each other. We should find some time for coffee,” a thrill up along Will’s spine, he knows it annoys Hannibal when he doesn’t act with pure affection. 

“My dear Will, would you wrap up whatever dreadful case they have you slaving over and return home? I’d like to think more than coffee is in order,” the words rolled from Hannibal’s dexterous tongue coated in promises of things to come. 

“Give me an hour. I’ll speak with Crawford and come straight home. Do you need anything?” 

“What have I told you about being ambiguous, Will? Since you asked, I would like you, without the superfluous addition of clothing in my lap at this very moment. Is that within your power?” 

“Goodbye, Dr.Lecter.” 

It was only a tad more difficult than usual for Will to contort his features back into their faintly neurotic Work Face expression from the smile stretched taut with his lips. It wouldn’t do for his already disputable sanity if the CSI's were to catch him grinning.


End file.
